


A Mortal Nuisance: An Introduction

by theAngryComet



Series: The Plumber's Academy didn't Account for Anarchists [1]
Category: Ben 10 Series, Generator Rex
Genre: Ben is Annoyed, BenKai mentioned (kind of), Gatlocke is having a blast, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, No Beta read we die like men, Rex and Agent Six come in later, Rook is annoyed, but they do fight, nothing gorey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:16:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28575132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theAngryComet/pseuds/theAngryComet
Summary: After what should have been an easy weekend gone sideways, Rook and Ben are more than ready to go home and take the day off. But of course, nothing goes to plan when you really want it to. Especially when you drive through a canyon in the territory of a group of land pirates dubbing themselves the Anarchists.This was going to be a long trip home.Or...Rook is introduced to possibly the most annoying person on the planet.Ben is thrown off a cliff.And Gatlocke is having fun as usual.
Relationships: Gatlocke & Rook Blonko, Rex Salazar & Ben Tennyson, Rook Blonko & Ben Tennyson, Rook Blonko & Rex Salazar
Series: The Plumber's Academy didn't Account for Anarchists [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093709
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. The Air Conditioning Only Works if you Close the Windows

The Sonoran Desert was a sight to behold, with its variety of plants that adored punishing passerby’s and lovely rock formations to get crushed upon. Yes, it was a truly beautiful chaotic place of near-constant sunshine and pleasant weather.  
Except for the summers. Those regularly broke triple digits and then some. There was one year where the high was 121 degrees Fahrenheit for a week straight.  
Yes, that was the time of year to break out the remaining ice cream trucks and hide out in the freezers.  
But it was no such day, luckily. Mid-October meant Mid-90’s.  
The desert road glimmered with reflected heat, its asphalt glimmering with a light shine of fresh paving. As it weaved out the canyon to the fork in the road, it merged into a single entity that dipped off into the horizon.  
Peering through his eyeglass, Gatlocke mused that you simply couldn’t get a view like this back at Cambridge as he scanned the scene for the telltale sign of dust clouds. He had been standing lookout for quite a few years now and had long since mastered the art of balancing the stylishly dramatic and the ever practical.  
Leg comfortably resting upon his Standing Rock, he mentally ticked off the minutes it would take for their latest haul to arrive. An unassuming vehicle that would be carrying its weight in gold in materials. His source, ever the reliable scout he was, mentioned it was well guarded too.  
This was going to be fun, should the convoy in question decide to get here.  
“Honestly, is no one on time anymore?” Gesturing with a spare hand, the mechanics softly whirred and clicked into their place as he elaborated with his arms. “I mean really, it’s just rude to keep people waiting.”  
He’d be starting to get a cramp if they didn’t show up soon.  
“There was a change of drivers, sir.” The right-hand man spoke up, gloved finger flicking across the tablet in hand.  
“And?” His eyebrow disappeared beneath his headband.  
“Well, according to our source, the Blue one refuses to go over the speed limit.”  
“Out here? Hmm. Sounds stuffy.” Gatlocke shrugged, returning the eyeglass to its place. “Well, it’s that kind of attitude that’s going to get them killed.”  
A few moments more and-  
“Ah. There they are.” With a cheerful grin, he sauntered over to his men. “How are we doing today boys, this thing-a-ma-bob we're after will be our what, 3rd haul today alone?”  
“Actually, it’ll put us at fourth, sir.” Came the chipper reply.  
“Excellent.” Closing his spyglass with a clack, he tossed it over his shoulder as one of his men scrambled to catch it. "Shall we Gentlemen?"

-/ --- /-

Turning the AC up, Rook, not for the first time, wished Proto-Armor was better thought out for those with fur such as himself.  
Designed to mold to the skin, it glided fluidly with the wearers every movement with practically no resistance. Its near-impenetrable plates were capable of absorbing the kinetic energy of strikes that would otherwise incapacitate the average Sapien.  
But with this protection came subsequent side effects. Proto-Armor did not breathe as normal cloth would and thus trapped heat. This would go unnoticed by most, but Revonnahgander’s were gifted with thick, compact coats that allowed them to survive the bitter sleets of winter.  
Lucky him.  
However, Rook had the self-control not to pick at where the sweat had gathered at the crooks of his elbows. Instead, he focused on the road in front of him cutting through the shimmering rocky terrain and the conversation between.  
“Is it not a little strange that she fell in love with him after only three days of knowing one another?” Gesturing in front of him with his one hand, the other kept steady on the steering wheel as he, there was no other for it, ranted about the feature. “The fact that he was the first she met of her species outside the false mother is a little unsettling to their romance.”  
“Yeah, they confirm she fell in love with him because he rescued her in the series.” Ben yawned, clicking the window knob absentmindedly.  
“Series?”  
“Yeah, they made a TV show. If you’re complaining this much about the injustice of the movie wait ‘till you see what they do to the cute little blue-striped kid who pushes tradition.”  
Rook could see the flash of teeth out of the corner of his eye and wondered how much Ben was messing with him.  
“What happens to the kid?”  
"Oh, nothing." With a rise and fall of his shoulders, he continued upholding his catlike smirk. A kind held when Ben knew something Rook did not and was going to lord over him with it by vague, out of context comments that would never be properly explained. He resigned himself for confusion as Ben proceeded to explain a show that the Hero of the Universe had had to bear from when watching his baby cousin the week prior.   
"The short stick of is the kid gets royally screwed over, even though for the most part he was following order-"  
Rook's gaze flicked from the air conditioner to the partially opened passenger side window, and back to the road, half-listening as the road shimmered ahead of them. 


	2. Critiques in Canyons

“You always take such lovely shots, Chuck. See how the rock formation in foreground balances out the truck?” Gatlocke admired the screen thoughtfully. A simple, unassuming loading truck drifted along the recently repaved and painted road. _Max's Plumbers_ was painted across the side, with a caricature of an older man leaning on a pipe wrench. 

Gatlocke went to swipe the screen, only to deliver a scratch to join all the numerous others. 

He emitted a light _tsk_ of irritation.

Touch screens and metal fingers rarely worked well together, if at all. The Head Anarchist had long since given up trying to get any modern do-hickeys with them to work for him. Besides, buttons did always have the delightfully little clicking sounds you couldn't get from screens. Well, perhaps if you had acrylic nails.

Tilting the tablet back towards him to swipe it right, he got a close up of the car's occupants. 

"Huh. The driver really is blue. You don't see that every day."

“Should we get started then, Gatlocke?” Chuck brought him back to the matter at hand, head tilted towards the others as they waited amiably for orders. A few stood gathered around one who had pulled out a deck of cards and was performing magic tricks. 

Grinning fondly as his anarchists clapped and ooed at the card presented before them, he flicked his eyes back to Chuck. 

"Well, we can’t very well leave them waiting, now can we.” Tossing the tablet back to him he raised his arms. “Ladies” -as they had two of them join their ranks since the Anarchists last attacked the Providence convoy- “and Gentlemen, let’s get to it!”

-/ --- /-

Sighing, Ben pinched the bridge of his nose from the corner of Rook's vision, slumping forward in his seat.

"Rook. It's. A. Disney. Movie. The romance isn't supposed to be well thought out." He waved around the hand not clutching his nose in exasperation. "It's supposed to appeal to kids."

"Then why not show a realistic relationship development? Is it not important to establish what are and are not healthy habits in a relationship?" Mouth flat, red irises focused on the lines of the road, his partner getting further exasperated as he elaborated the problem of presenting such material in children's media. "These are not good lessons Ben. One should never trust someone who broke an entry into your home, especially if they are an older man who has committed multiple acts of theft and possible acts of treason. It does not make sense."

"Is this about the age difference or the fact that the charming, reckless thief got off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist as well as a princess to boot?" Ben resumed his fiddling with the switch on the door, the window rolling up and down with little synchronized whirrs and clicks. Hot air crisply ate up any chill produced by the airconditioning as it wooshed loudly. "You didn’t think the thief should get the girl and that she should’ve broken out on her own." 

Peering holes through the windshield, he opened his mouth to be cut off once again. The window ceased it's movements, leaving a sizable crack open to continue to kill any hope of cooling down the cab. 

“Alright,” Checking his Omnitrix as though it could tell time, Ben fiddled with the faceplate before clapping his hands together. “We have officially reached our limit of discussing a Princess movie."

"Alright then. Have you figured out what has been going on between you and Miss Green?" Rook raised an eyebrow in Ben's direction. 

He stilled, eyes stuck on the window toggle as a series of expressions flickered across his face. Most prominent was the conflicted furrow of the brow, torn between angular irritation and raised confusion. As quick as they came they were gone as the mask settled back over his features. 

"Huh?" His features were quick to smooth with a fluid shrug of the shoulders, feigning ignorance as he stared at the window, counting but not seeing the chain fruit cholla. "Don't know what's there to discuss. Kai's a pain, always has been and probably always will be. Why?"

And if Rook noticed his left eye twitch he did not mention it.

"Nothing. I was just curious as to why you are always so quick to help her if you dislike her so much."

"It's just hero stuff." Another twitch and another shrug as he smirked, gesturing to the road before them. "That's kind of in the job description."

"Yes, but if I remember correctly, it was your day off."

"I don't really get those Roo-"

"That is exactly my point." Pushing the toggle on his side, he closed Ben's window so he would not have to shout. "And according to Gwendolyn, you-"

"Oh please." Ben scoffed, cutting Rook off for a second time as he rolled his eyes. "Gwen has never liked Kai. She still get's all riled up because of something she said when we were 10."

"Had you let me finish, what I was going to say was that your cousin mentioned you have been avoiding your scheduled doctor's appointments."

There was a beat of silence. And then.

“You know, they probably shouldn’t have made that thief guy five years older than her. It makes it really weird given how young she was. I mean, she’d _just_ turned eighteen-“

With a roll of the eyes and an irritated huff of air, Rook wondered what it would take for Ben to stop avoiding so much as the slightest chance of discussing his muddled up feelings about the Navajo girl or his regularly ditched appointments. His friend seemed to have particularly rotten luck when it came to the opposite gender, especially those the Hero of the Universe deemed attractive.

As to the appointments... Ben had seemed to have taken this vendetta against all doctors as of late. It was strange, out of character, and beginning to get worrisome. 

All Rook knew for certain was that if they continued to get dragged out to random locations to protect ancient artifacts outside of either of their jurisdiction, it would be Ben who would have to start coming up with the excuses to Max as to why they were not patrolling Bellwood proper.

For now, though, he would simply get them home, even if that meant driving as opposed to flying.

A touch of irritation flattened his mouth once more as he remembered the damage to his ride. 

A fork in the road began to split, the right road continuing along the relatively flat plains, the left road cutting through a canyon. Slowing to a stop, Rook tapped the GPS built by Bukrig and Driba, waiting for directions. 

“ _Turn right to continue on your way to the Plumbers HQ_.” came a digitized version of Blukrig’s voice. He half expected a follow-up recording Driba arguing with him, but was surprised to hear nothing. After a minute, the GPS repeated itself, and that confirmed their direction. 

Rook turned his left blinker on, despite having no one else on the road to alert, and resumed forward, getting into the appropriate lane. 

“Uh, Rook, the GPS said to go right.” Jerking a thumb at the approaching fork, Ben raised an eyebrow, straightening in his seat as Rook took the wrong exit. “What gives?.”

“If you recall the last time we listened to this Global Positioning System you almost drove us into a lake."

"It was dark, the headlights were busted, and it said to turn right!" Defending himself, Ben crossed his arms poutily. 

"Additionally, there is road work on the other path.” Pointing to the second sign they passed at the fork, the right path was taken up by old school street blockers. The once cheerful orange and white stripes were faded and peeling. The reflectors blink sadly as they drove past them into through the canyon cutting apart a plateau.

“There wasn’t any two days ago.” Rolling down the window once more, Rook gave an irked tsk as Ben stuck his head out. Looking behind, brow furrowed with a frown as his hair whipped back, the dry heat struck his face like a pillow fresh from the dryer.

“Two days ago, the Proto-Truck, if you recall, had both wings in full operation and thus was able to fly over this particular region of the Sonoran desert,” Rook explained, a bit tartly. 

It was always his ride that took damage. 

Every.

Single.

Time.

Unless of course, Kevin's car was nearby, but that was a rare sight to behold. The Osmosian had finally learned that his car was a Tennyson Trouble Magnet and kept it as far away as from the Omnitrix wielder as possible. 

A wise course of action Rook was unable to replicate. Alas, instead it was a tragically regular occurrence the trashing of his vehicle. All in all, they got off lightly this trip.

The Proto truck drove steadily, following the road along the bottom of the canyon. As they came across a rockslide, the vehicle glided over to the road carving its way up the left side of the canyon without wasting an ounce of energy. 

“Look, I said I was sorry. Hey, what’s the name of this valley again?” Ben apologized distractedly, bringing his head back in, jerking a thumb at the increasing step precipice beside him. They crept upwards alongside the burnt looking cliffs. Smoky stars littered the sides in increasingly concentrated numbers. 

“Locke’s Pass I believe.” Why did it seem human’s _had_ to have the narrowest roads for the steeper roadways. While the driver’s side hugged the cliff, he could still tell the drop would utterly annihilate standard Earth cars. Had he been in another vehicle, he would have been unsettled. 

“Why do you ask?” He inquired, unease settling in his intestines- gut. Ben’s arms slipped back into the vehicle as his eyebrows narrowed.

More scorch marks spread across the sides of the cliff, with craters joining them. Perhaps the road work should be on this road give them the number of potholes. He’d have to check the suspension once they got to headquarters.

“Rex mentioned a Locke's Pass." Peridot eyes narrowed, he scanned the limited terrain, not liking what he was seeing as more damage crept up. "He said something about a group of land pirates."

“Who?” Rex. Latin for the reigning king. That was all Rook’s mind could come up with to the name. If Ben had worked with a Rex, it certainly wasn’t in his file. Otherwise, Rook would have a face to the name.

“You know, Rex. Generator Rex?" Assessing his partner's face, he saw just increasing surprise as opposed to his usual smug grin born when teasing. "The Robo-dude?”

Something dark whizzed past him outside the open window; they were going too fast to see it properly even if they were paying attention at this point.

“Dude, I seriously haven’t told you this story?” Ben 

“No, _dude_ ,” Rook returned, emphasizing the U like Ben. 

“Huh.” The brunette sat back, mild surprise carving his features as he shrugged nonchalantly. The road had gotten even more narrow as they made their final climb. There couldn’t have been more than two feet of the road before the guard rail. His eyes flicked across the road. “Remind me to tell you about the time Upchuck ate the Alpha Nanite haunting the Null Void.”

“That is a new expression you have yet to use, no?” 

Rook never received an answer, as a dull thud struck the cab roof. 


	3. Rook gets a Nose Job

Gatlocke landed on the bonnet of the car with a grin, adoring the slight swerve in the vehicle. You could get the best impression of someone from how they drove under stress.

The driver was in tight control of his emotions, able to restrain himself from swerving despite being badly frightened. The passenger, however, was not. A swear from the right and a chastisement from the left escaped the for now occupied cab, followed by a series of cross gestures, again from the right.

He had been living in America for almost five years now, and he still had to remind himself at times that the driver's side was on the left now. 

As the passenger's arm, pale, thin, but not weak, flailed outside the window, Gatlocke saw an opportunity and ran with it. 

Or if you wanted to be literal, grabbed it and tossed it aside.

Reaching down, he jerked the flailing wrist upward with one hand while the other reached inside. With a quick flick of the wrist, his dual knives extended and sliced off the seat belt. 

Honestly, polyester seatbelts? So last season. 

Now that the passenger was free of restraints, Gatlocke wrenched him out of the vehicle and over the pass. He hadn't intended to throw him so far as  _ off  _ the cliff, but the fellow was shockingly small and light. Should have guessed it from how dainty the wrist was, but still. Kids these days were much too worried about appearances that eating right it was maddening. 

A brief glimpse of a startled and increasingly offended pair of peridot eyes flashed before him as he slid into the now properly swerving vehicle.

-/ --- /- 

Rook jerked the wheel at the sudden sound, gently swerving towards the right-ward railing before realigning himself with the road. Scrambling for a grip, Ben was less calm as he slammed into the passenger door. 

"F@#$!" Clutching his head, he rubbed at the sore spot. It was still tender from when he'd been tossed into the ground post-transformation earlier this weekend

"BEN! Language!" Looking down at him, brow furrowed in disgusted disappointment, Ben felt a flare-up of irritation as he shot a nasty glare at his partner. 

"Oh, I'm  _ sorry!" _ His arms pointed at the door, his right remaining outside the open window as he ranted. "I just love being suddenly slammed into Taydenite-fiber door panels!"

Rook stared at Ben, taken back at the outburst, and the latter relented, grimacing apologetically before glancing away. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Changling shook it off. 

"Sorry, Rook. I-" Cut off as his arm was abruptly yanked upwards, Ben's head once again collided with the frame of the cab. 

A pitch-black steel arm reached in past Ben's struggling and the hand rotated with a cheerful whir. Twin blades of scarlet steel burst forward from hidden compartments on wrists and easily sliced through the seatbelt. Without so much as a word exchanged, much less a quip, Ben was yanked out of the cab, through the window, and sent flying over the battered railing. 

The Proto-Truck sparked and scraped against the cliffside as the brakes screeched in protest, narrowly avoiding the edge of the canyon itself as its driver tried to force an impossible U-turn. 

"BEN!" Rook tried to open the door while his hands were already reaching for the Proto-Tool, ever-present on his shoulder, and setting it to a grappling line. 

While Ben certainly had numerous alien forms with the capability of flight, the chance of his Omnitrix giving him the alien he desired were slim. Even if it did, that would be of little help. Though the cliff was steep, they were not high enough to give him much time to pick and choose correctly.

"Oh, was that the little fellow's name?"

Rook stopped at the chipper, he believed the accent was British, to his right, where there should have been a perfectly empty, unoccupied chair. Head turning slowly, he glanced at the man sitting comfortably in the passenger's seat. 

"Oh don't bother going after him now, he was dead as soon as I threw him." The man was tactlessly chipper, perhaps even proud of his statement. Rubbing his goatee thoughtfully, he chuckled before continuing. "Though I will admit I  _ way _ overshot him. That, Ben was it? He was light. Should have eaten more."

He nodded, as though in agreement with himself.

"Yes my mother would be apalled if she saw light he was, why she-"

Staring at him incredulously as he babbled, Rook struggled to process the scene before him as the cloaked stranger perused his interior. He was as delighted as a Young One with a freshly fallen bi'nthak. Or, a human child on Christmas as Ben would say.

Reorganizing the list of actions in his mind, Rook realized the human who had somehow slipped in the truck was right, in the fact that Ben at this point had either saved himself or... found another way down the cliff. Instead, he assessed the foreign figure in Ben's seat, still frozen as he formed a plan in the back of his mind. 

"This interior work though, marvelous. What kind of leather is this- oh wait no let me guess." Outlandish brown hair held straight up by a red headband, he adorned a black cloak, designed more for providing shade than warmth. Both arms were missing and replaced with prosthetics far beyond Earth technology available to the public. His hands whirred and clicked as they drummed his thighs. 

"This is a woodwork though, masterfully done. Do you see how seamlessly is fits together? Is this mahogany? I love mahogany" They moved to the dashboard, running over the aforementioned wood. "I mean really, you don't just get craftsmanship like this anymore. What with America's love for the whole factory line thing."

Rook blinked at him, red eyes narrowing as his nose crinkled. With a few clicks, he had the Proto-Tool had shifted from Grabbling Line to Blaster, and currently aimed it at the man's nose. 

The intruder of his ride and yeeter (was he using that term correctly?) of his friend, who had yet to stop talking this entire encounter. 

"-a wonderful piece of machinery." The man gushed, only stopping when his head turned facing the barrel of the proto-tool. 

"Oh well, that's a stupid decision." He looked amused, an eyebrow disappearing beneath his headband as he poked amused at the weapon, fingers clacking against the metal. The Revonnaggander did not budge. 

"You are under arrest for the assault of a Plumber." Voice low and calm, his aim remained steady as he tilted his head towards his badge, still, lying in its place in the center console. "You will put your hands on the dashboard and have the right to remain silent." 

"Oh you  _ are _ a stuffy one. Attempting to arrest me without even a proper introduction or list of crimes." Placing a whirring hand over his heart, the other draped across his face dramatically. "Mr.Kitty Cat, didn't they teach you the basic laws of this fine country?"

"Mr- what?" Nose crinkling in offense, his grip on the Proto-Tool adjusted. "I am a Plumber, not feline."

"No, you're more of a Thunder Cat, an excellent show mind you. The first reboot was superb, though I haven't the time to try out the 2nd." tilting his head, Gatlocke assessed him. Well kept indigo fur, save the white moon face outlined in an angular black, what would be on a human, beard.

"Though that was hardly my point. This," he gestured around them. "is very clearly a stickup."

Rook's eyes flicked to his surroundings, ears flattening as he began to notice the increasing assortment of vehicles on the road surrounding them. 

"Grand Theft Auto if you will." Tapping his chin, he stared unimpressed at the weapon before him. The fuzzy man at the wheel wore a strange outfit, presumably a protective armor of some kind, that covered every inch of him excluding his hands and face.

"This is getting boring." Knocking a knuckle against the tool, metal scraped upon metal far harshly than a human hand would ever allow. 

Sturdy stuff. But spaced just the right amount. It would be difficult, but if he got his angles right...

"I said put your hands on the dashboard." Rook refused to look at his badge. If he could contact for back up-

Unlocking the safety on the Proto-Tool, Gatlocke gave a feral grin.

"I see we're cutting straight to the point here." Raising his left hand, a whirring flick of the wrist had his blades back in place. 

They lunged. Well, as much as one could lunge in a cab of a vehicle, even one as spacious as this one. 

Blades slipping between the proto-tools shifting pieces, the Techadon metal warped and splintered at its interchangeable joint. The force was enough to pierce through the interior and knock the remains out of Mr. Kitty Cat's hands. 

With a quick snatch from his right hand, he grabbed a fistful of his top fur and wrenched down, slamming what Gatlocke could only presume was Mr.KittyCat's nose into the steering wheel. 

As Gatlocke quickly discovered, while human noses consist of mostly cartilage, the Revonnahgander nose was an extension of the skull, protecting a bundle of nerves as well as olfactory sensory neurons. While this does not inhibit them for the most part, it leads to a quick sensory overload. If struck hard enough, by say being slammed into the edge of a custom made steering wheel by the full force of a cybernetic arm, the resulting stimulus would result in rendering the Revonnagander victim unconscious. 

As pain erupted from his face, Rook's vision shuttered to black as he slumped in his seat, the remaining pieces of the Proto-Tool slipping from slack fingers. 

Gatlocke blinked at the slack form beside him, previously so filled with outrage and spark. Releasing Mr. KittyCat's scalp, he poked his face, lips pursed in curiosity. 

"Well, that was easy." He mused surprised, poking the fur again, imagining it to be dense but soft, seeing how it gave way to his prodding. With a shrug, he rummaged through his pockets until he found cuffs. Attaching his hands away from one another, the lack of movement was notable. 

Mr.KittyCat better not be dead, where was the fun in that? Pursing his lips again, he kicked open the relatively untouched passenger door and left the probably-unconscious-but-also-possibly-dead body in its place. 

"Alright ladies, gents, load her up!" He smacked his hand against the scoured side, the metal against metal clanging loudly, but not hollowly. "We've got a lot of surface repairs to make if we're going to sell this lovely bit of lean mean machine to the highest bidder so let's get to it!"

A series of cheers chorused through the Anarchists, and Gatlocke smiled. 


	4. Impromptu Flying Lessons are so Controversial

Of the many things, Benjamin Tennyson was not fond of. Getting the wrong alien. Clowns. Pushy fans. Discussing his feelings. Impromptu flying lessons were near the top of his list; and the universe deemed it appropriate to throw them at every turn. Honestly, it was starting to get ridiculous; the number of times he had been launched out of moving vehicles, whether designed for land, air, or space. The sad part was that he wasn't even mad at being thrown  _ out _ so much as not being given time to shift out Ben for one of his more aerodynamic aliens. 

As the wind roared past his ears in unfortunate familiarity, he wondered briefly when he had begun to start thinking as his human self as Ben. Not in the sense that it was his name, but rather how he would name any of his other alien forms. When he had begun to consider his natural body as "Ben" as opposed to simply himself?

However, he was not given the time to dwell on it, as he had other priorities at the moment. 

The wind tore at his clothes as he straightened in the air, time seeming to slow around him as he stabilized. He could just hear the duet of squealing tires and screeching metal against stone fading off. 

"C'mon Omnitrix!" he shouted to no one, heart racing as he plunged, hand raised, narrowly missing poorly placed rock formations. "Gimme something with wings!" 

Slamming his palm down on the faceplate, the Omnitrix chirped in complaint. Inside the delicate mechanism, the scroller bar once again skipped. More angry chirpings gave off from deep within the device as the selection pad was once again misaligned into the incorrect gear. It knew the DNA selected by its host did not match the DNA the scroller pad had chosen but pursued the DNA modification process nevertheless. Even if the alien didn't match the one shown on the hologram, he would now certainly survive the fall, if but uncomfortably. 

Emerald light enveloped him and he set his teeth in grim anticipation. 

See, when Ben had told Rook's younger brother, then simply known as Young One, what it was like to transform, he had said it was like a big stretch. While this was not untrue, it was a far cry from the full picture. How his transformations felt was impossible to describe in a way that was appropriate for children, much less casual dinner conversation. 

How does one explain the sensation of the strands of his DNA contracting and twisting so tight that they snap? The feeling of foreign chemicals rearranging the broken pieces to create completely new ones? The strain of when your skin stretched so tight over morphing muscle tissue that it should tear? But instead, it continues to swell and harden into plates never meant for your nervous system?

How does one explain that heightened awareness of agony compacted in less than a millisecond to a bright, curious pair of red eyes staring up at their hero? 

More importantly, how does one explain going through all of that and  _ still  _ getting the wrong alien? 

-//-

Now, impromptu flying lessons weren't for everybody. Heck, they were hardly for anybody. They weren't for the weak of heart. They weren't for pregnant women. And don't even try and start if there are back problems involved. 

But for Rex?

They were everything. 

Velocity turning the otherwise hot air crisp and cool, the Boogie Pack whirred confidently beyond his shoulder blades as he darted through the air. With a grin worthy of the smuggest of cats, he headed straight for the wall of the canyon he was supposed to be patrolling discretely. 

Well, discretely had never really been his style.

A laughing whoop of jubilation broke from his lips as he adjusted the pack's thrusters at the last moment, shooting himself straight towards the sky. Ears popping as he approached the cloud line, his grin only widened. Turning off his wings, the layers of metal retracted back into his body as he let his momentum launch himself through the layer of condensation. 

There's this moment with this kind of trick. Where he just kind of stopped. Neither moving up or down, there is that feeling of complete stillness. A distinct pause before gravity overcomes that last bit of momentum. 

A little break between it all.

It lasted mere milliseconds at best, but it was breathtaking. 

Closing his eyes, sun warm on his face, he leaned back and let gravity overtake him once more. 

The wind quickly turned into a roar in his ears, hammering ceaselessly at his goggles to get to his eyes. Completely useless, but an admirable attempt nevertheless. Like a comet he shot back down towards the Sonoran Desert, the ground becoming more distinctive. Still having no intent to reactivate his wings, he continued down.

Had his comm not been rooted into the curve of his ear, Rex wouldn't have heard Six over the Radio.

“Rex, come in. -zzzzz- ssions’ not -zzzz-.”

That was his cue. Now he had to fight wind resistance. Adjusting his body, his feet tingled with the small volts of electricity as new machinery formed, orange and black accents replaced with navy blue and glowy bits he had yet to truly identify.

“Rex. -zzz- Come in.”

Sky Slyder sweet Sky Slyder, she was a sweet ride for cruising the airways downtown, but they weren't in the city now were they? The question Rex wanted answered was could she handle this amount of G-force?

That’s what he wanted to find out.

“Rex!”

-//-

Six’s mouth flattened into a thin line as the only response he got was a blend of wind and static. Nothing but white noise and worse than useless. 

Given that Rex had taken to the air for his patrol, there was an equal chance of his partner being unable to hear him or flat out ignoring him in favor of cutting up the canyon sides. Though in all honesty, it was more likely the former given who they were dealing with. 

Though the Anarchists were a far cry from the typical threats Providence faced, that didn't mean they weren't dangerous. Particularly their leader. 

Gatlocke was unusual in every sense of the word. From his flamboyance to his temper to his unswerving "gang" as he lovingly called them, everything about him shouldn't work. And yet it did. 

Should they get the target in question, there was no telling what they might do.

“Rex, we’re supposed to be overseeing the Locke’s Pass.” He tried again, patience thinning. “Joyrides over.”

“What’s that -zzzz- ear you -zzzz- at a -zzzz-“ Rex returned, genuine static breaking up his sentence into unintelligible bits and phrases. If his commlink was getting spotty, that meant he'd already brushed up against if not breached the range of their scramblers.

“Focus on the mission. We can’t let the Anarchists get ahold of that vehicle.” Six pressed the comm in his ear a bit harder than probably necessary. “Rex, if you can’t hear me your probably close.”

“Kay-zzzzzz- an’t understand mos-zzzzzzza-“ Rex's voice barely filtered through before the line abruptly cut off. Rex was definitively in Anarchist territory now.

_ KRACKOOOM! _

Glancing at the screens, he saw a smudgy blur crash into the earth, perfectly still as the surrounded agents stumbled at the rumbling. 

"What was that?" His voice cut through the startled shouts, retaining order in an instant. 

An Agent, Pierre he believed their name was, leaned closer into the screen, grabbing the chair to straighten themselves with. With a few swipes and clicks, they had blown up the picture to get a better idea of the object. 

"It's too far away sir," they answered, trying to heighten the image. The best they could see was that the subject in question was round and yellow.

Distinctly  _ not _ Rex shaped. 

Meaning that was likely to be someone else’s reckless agent that was going to become Six’s problem. 

-//-

"CANNONBOLT!" He exclaimed, voice deep and echoey from his headless face. Outrage flared as fiercely as when he'd been chastised earlier. "Fine."

Instinctively curling up, he spun through the air currents, feeling more than seeing where to lean. Wind tickling the hair along the armored plates of Cannonbolt, he shut his eyes in the pitch darkness, focusing on how the currents were shaped. If he could find the differences in how the air current went around the rock structures, he might be able to-

_ KRACKOOOM! _

Crash and create a new landmark to make roadwork around. Great. Slamming into the earth, he cut through the canyon floor like gravelly butter. As the rocks ricocheted harmlessly off him, he eventually came to a stop. Uncurling, the dirt fell from the space between the shell plates covering him. With a puff of dust, he shuddered off the heavier sand from his fur back to the ground. 

Leaning back unsteadily on his legs, he raised a hand to shield himself from the sun as he tried to see what was going up along the cliffside. 

Cannonbolt had many things, but great eyesight was not one of them. All he could make out were vague blurs of color, red for the mountains, and a severely muted blue for the sky. 

Dammit. 

Dammit. 

Dammit!

"UGH!" Kicking at a small boulder with his short stubby legs, his arms ended up flailing for balance as fury flared through him. 

How could he have let someone get the drop on him like that? He was freaking Ben Tennyson; he shouldn't be able to be yeeted from his ride by some two-bit... What had Rex called them?

He replayed the conversation in his mind as he hobbled over to the edge of the hole, reaching for the edge with clawed fingers.

"Anarchist Land Pirates?" He fumed aloud, pulling himself up as a familiar chirp sounding off with a second flash of emerald. Dangling by the tips of his fingers, the dirt gave way, taking Ben with it. 

"AAH!" The crater's edge crumpled beneath his grip as he slammed back into the ground with a grunt. Of course, he landed on a small boulder  _ now _ . Of course, he had gotten Cannonbolt. Of course, he'd let himself get yeeted out of moving truck over the cliff to what to a normal person would have been their inevitable death. 

Scowl deepening, he got back up  _ again _ and brushed the crumbs of dirt and clay clinging to the cotton of his shirt. Taking a breath, he straightened himself out, let it go, and moved onward. 

Following the line he'd cut from the canyon floor, the valley sun beat down on him, heat settling uncomfortably on his mostly black shirt and hair. How anyone survived, much less  _ lived _ out here in this heat, he had no idea. It had to be in the mid-nineties at least.

As he ran his fingers along the increasingly shrinking wall beside him, he mused that Khoros was admittedly hotter and dryer, but that was an entirely different planet with an entirely different solar system. 

When he'd reached the end of his crater, the dirt wall had reached a more manageable scrambling height. He set to getting up from there. With some more displaced dirt, thorns, and an unfortunate incident regarding a rattlesnake, he managed to get back to sea level. 

Panting, he flopped on the desert floor, letting the sun bake the sand into his skin.

"Wings... Wings would have been nice." he said between aching breaths, lifting his arm to glare at the Omnitrix. 

The sleek design stared back, its hourglass faceplate squinting down at him as if in chastisement. 

Tsking, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to ease the pounding headache that the sun's glare did everything to worsen. A shadow went over him and stayed there.

"Good, your alive." Came a monotone voice, whose tone indicated otherwise. "Now."

A soft  _ shing _ and Ben felt the all too familiar feeling of a cold blade pressed at the back of his neck. Blasters, six if he heard right, loaded behind him and presumably aimed at the back at his very vulnerable, very human skull. 

"Who are you and just who do you work for?"

This week just didn't want to work out for him did it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update. I'm going to try to write and upload a chapter weekly, at latest every two weeks. This chapter was a bit of a b**** to right; none of the scenes wanted to connect together at all.


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